


Wrong and Right

by heartsdesire456



Series: Fire Against Ice (the series) [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Murder, Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsdesire456/pseuds/heartsdesire456
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a newly married Lestrade heads back to work after his suspension to a better office, a new team, and a new outlook on his career and his life, his husband's life isn't quite as uncomplicated. While Mycroft deals with the knowledge he now posesses that his brother is alive, and keeps the knowledge from his husband, Lestrade continues on with business as usual. When an unknown gunman opens fire on Lestrade's crimescene, Sherlock finally explains to Mycroft that he is after assassins intent on killing the people Sherlock cares about most. </p><p>Unfortunately, his news comes just a little too late for one of the parties involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong and Right

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so the summary is shitty, but if you have read the first two fics in this series, you will most likely find this third installment to be better than the second was! 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

When Lestrade went back to work, the higher ups spent a good half-hour his first morning back kissing his arse after the review board found he had done nothing wrong and had been their most outstanding DI. He got a bigger, nicer office out of the deal, so he wasn’t too bothered by their dramatic sucking up. He knew they would continue for a while but he just wanted to get back to doing what he did best: Solving crimes.

After all the inquiries, a fair few of those on his old team had been demoted, reassigned, or outright fired so his first order of business was to meet with his team. He was just finishing setting up his office about fifteen minutes before everybody was meant to arrive in his office when there was a knock on the door. “Come in.”

He looked up and was surprised to see Sergeant Donovan there. “Hello, sir,” she said, giving him an awkward smile as she walked in. She stood in front of his desk and took a breath. “I just wanted to get a chance to apologize. I was wrong,” she said simply. “I was wrong to go behind my superior officer’s back, I was wrong to not believe you, and I was just plain wrong in the end and we all have to live with the consequences,” she said and he leaned back in his chair.

“You didn’t get demoted because you’re a good copper,” he said and she looked up, surprised. “You still have the option of asking to be transferred. I’ll back you on it if you don’t want to work for me anymore,” he offered and she squared herself and shook her head.

“No thanks, sir. I’m alright where I am,” she said firmly.

Lestrade nodded and gestured to the chair across from him. “May as well have a seat then. The meeting is soon,” he said and she gave him a smile before sitting. He pulled the box he had had all of his things in and dug out the last items. He was just finishing setting up a photograph in a frame of him, Mycroft, and his daughters taken at their wedding when Sergeant Donovan’s intake of breath caught his attention. He looked up and saw her staring at his hand. “Something wrong?” he asked and she shook her head, looking up.

“It’s just-“ She cringed. “Sorry but weren’t you divorced?” she asked, and Greg glanced at his ring, smiling a soppy little smile.

“I was, but I’ve actually just got married a week ago,” he explained. 

Sally looked surprised but smiled. “You’ve only been gone two and a half months. Someone got married in a hurry,” she tried to joke and he actually did manage a laugh. Things were strained but she seemed a different person so it was genuine, not cruel.

He shook his head. “It isn’t, really. I mean, it was a rushed engagement, we had a very small ceremony so we didn’t bother waiting more than a few weeks between then and our wedding.” He smiled. “No, we’ve been together closer to two years than one now,” he said, noticing the surprise on her face.

“I didn’t know you were even dating someone, sir,” she admitted. “You worked so much I just figured… well, not that,” she said and he nodded, biting back a smile.

“Well, met somebody who has an even busier life and wound up making a good thing of it. Going days without speaking was part of what ruined my first marriage, but we both understand and we made it work,” he said simply. There was a knock and he looked up. “Come in.” he called.

A fair few people all filed in. Some he knew (most of who wore either happy or guilty expressions), some he knew from other departments transferred to his team, and some he’d never seen before. “Morning, sir,” one of his older co-workers said in greeting.

“Morning, all,” he said, sitting back in his chair. After everybody had settled he nodded. “Right, I just wanted to touch base with all of you.” He looked at faces, taking them in. “Most of you I know, a few of you worked with me before, and some of you I’ve never seen in my life.” He put his hands together, tapping his fingertips together. “I’ve just come back from suspension because a few arrogant sods reported me.” He shrugged. “But, I kept my job and quite a few of them lost theirs so we see how that worked out. But needless to say I will not tolerate insubordination,” he said, looking at everybody. “Chances are the review boards will take a bit more convincing now that I’ve been cleared once of any wrongdoing.” 

Just as he was about to say something else, his desk phone rang and he held up a hand to pick it up. “Lestrade.” He nodded, then chuckled. “Right away.” He hung up and nodded. “Right, dismissed. Sergeant Donovan, come with me, we’ve got a body,” he said, and Sally stood up as he did.

“Right, Higgins, Richards, you two with me,” she started and Lestrade just chuckled, pulling on his coat.

“Back to business, I guess,” he said as he followed the line of people filing out of his office.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Greg arrived at a crime scene only a few weeks into his return and was greeted by one of the new forensics specialists he hadn’t ran into on any of the other crime scenes since he got back. She was a tall, slim, pretty woman- younger than him but still probably in her forties- whose nametag read Ginger Barnes. “Good morning,” she said, pushing her sleeves up as Lestrade and Donovan walked under the crime tape. “Ginger Barnes,” she introduced and Greg nodded.

“Morning,” he said and she fell into step with him as they approached the area where the photographers were at work.

“You must be the DI that was on leave I was told about. Mr. Holmes-Lestrade?” she asked as she pulled her red hair up away from her face on the walk over. Greg chuckled.

“I just go by Lestrade, but yes, that’s me,” he said, only to glance back when Donovan stopped in her tracks, eyes wide. “You alright, Sally?” he asked, and she just rushed to catch up, nodding.

“Yes, sir,” she said. When the forensics specialist went ahead to the body, she lowered her voice and gave Greg a look. “I had no idea you were related to him,” she said with wide, apologetic eyes.

Lestrade actually snickered. “No, Sally, I wasn’t related to Sherlock,” he said, then cringed. “God, do you think I’d have made it this far in life if I had been?” he asked, though he did shrug. “I guess technically I would’ve been now,” he realized and Donovan frowned. Greg held up his hand to show her his ring. “You met him once. He came in at the hospital one of the thousand times Sherlock got himself in a mess and we had a big row right in front of you,” he reminded her and she blinked.

“The other Holmes? You _married_ one of them?!” she asked, looking horrified at the thought.

Lestrade smirked. “Hey, he’s just as brilliant but much better house trained. Plus you saw him, who would say no to such a handsome bloke asking you to marry him?” he asked and Sally gave him a slightly frightened laugh.

“Yeah… right.”

Greg just smiled and shrugged. “What can I say, everybody thinks I’m barking anyhow. Can’t be a surprised I don’t have the most normal husband, can it-“

“GUN! DOWN!”

Greg didn’t even think twice at the words before grabbing Donovan and dragging her with him to the ground fractions of a second before a gunshot rang out. He lifted his head and looked around quickly, only to see the woman he’d been walking next to- Ginger Barnes- lying three feet to the side. He crawled over as Donovan shouted orders from her spot still crouched down, hand on her radio. 

The woman was dead. The bullet had gone through her neck. He could only assume from the blank, shocked look still on her face that it had severed her spinal cord before she knew what hit her. He looked around before scrambling back away from her, rushing to follow Donovan- who had ducked behind a parked police car with two other officers. “Where is it?!” he demanded and she shook her head.

“High powered rifer, possibly a sniper,” she said.

Greg cursed as another shot rang out to cries of alarm from several places as people took cover. He glanced under the car to see the shattered glass on the other side from where they were all ducking for cover and took his radio, calling for a firearms ready unit to come sweep the buildings around them at the same time as he untucked the back of his shirt and reached up to wiggle his gun free, pulling it out and cocking it as he got off the radio. Donovan gave him a wide eyed look and he cringed. “Nobody here saw this,” he said, looking at the other officers pointedly as he held the weapon at his side.

Sally nodded. “Nothing at all, sir,” she said, then snorted. “Especially not if it ends up saving our arses before this is all over,” she said, only to shuffle lower as another shot rang out, hitting the window of the car ten feet in front of them.

Lestrade snuck a glance through the car window only to dive down as another shot rang out, shattering the glass where he had just been. “Right, the shooter is there,” he said, nodding at the building across the street. “I can’t see what window, but he can’t seem to see us so if we hold out until the tactical unit gets here, we should be okay,” he reassured them all. “We should be just-“

BANG!

Lestrade felt a thump to his back and almost suspected the car door he was leaning against had opened into him for a few seconds before the pain started. He let out a strangled cry as all of a sudden an intense burning emanated from the upper right portion of his back. He heard Donovan shouting orders as he glanced down, only to go wide eyed at the sight of blood blooming from his chest and down his shirt. He groaned as he slumped forward some. “Oh God,” he wheezed, only to have an officer push him back upright and apply pressure to the wound. “AH!” he cried at the pain the pressure caused, only to have someone shushing him.

“Hayes,” he whined, looking into the eyes of the PC who was knelt beside him, head bowed as she applied pressure from both sides. “Hayes, get back-“

“No sir, he just got lucky,” she said, nodding at the door behind him. “He guessed and just happened to get it right. I’m out of sight and somebody has to keep you from bleeding while the ambulance comes.

He whimpered. “Jesus, I had no idea getting shot hurt so much,” he panted, only to pale when he felt a buzz in his pocket. He clumsily felt for his phone, heart speeding up when he realized his fingers were starting to feel slightly numb. “Uh-oh,” he breathed. He managed to get his phone out and opened the text, only to chuckle weakly as he read.

_I hear there was a shooting at your crime scene. Who got hurt?- MH_

He tried to reply, but everything was beginning to spin slightly. The phone vibrated again in his hands and he opened the message.

_Gregory, the update says there is a gunman firing up on police officers as we speak and at least three people have been shot. Please respond- MH_

“Sir?” He struggled to look up, only to slouch to the side. “SIR?!” PC Hayes cried, catching Donovan’s attention.

“Sir, stay with me,” she said, taking his gun from his right hand and his phone from the left. She looked at the phone and paled before slipping it into his pocket. “You’ll be alright.”

Lestrade let out a weak chuckle. “Makes sense I’d end up shot. How a police officer goes, isn’t it?” he asked, only to cringe as a wave of pain washed over him. “Who else got hit?” he asked and Donovan shook her head.

“Dead forensics woman, you, and I think one of the officers at the perimeter got hit in the leg, but he got to safety. They’ve pushed all the foot traffic back two blocks and cleared up the street for ambulances and ARVs.” She looked over at Hayes and past her at Martins. “Hayes, you should get down,” she said, nodding at Martins, who was crouched down with his head next to the tire.

Hayes shook her head. “No, I’m good,” she said, nodding at her hands pressing on either side of Lestrade’s body. Lestrade cringed as he watched their exchange.

“I’m alright, Lizzie, really. Get down,” he said, only to have his statement punctuated as another gunshot rang out and the window inches above Hayes’s head, startling her down. She tried to keep pressure but it wasn’t as easy as before. Greg’s vision started to go hazy and he winced. “What’s the ETA on that ambulance, Donovan?” he asked, voice somewhat faint.

“Four minutes, sir,” she said, looking at him.

He nodded weakly. “I might have that long left in me,” he said, eyes fluttering. “But I doubt I have that long conscious. So, don’t let anybody catch you with my gun,” he said looking over at her. “And whatever you do, don’t let anybody cross my husband. He’s a dangerous man when he wants to be and if I’m dead, dying, or he thinks I am, his level headedness will be out the window. I’m not joking, he can have all record of a person existing wiped within minutes and I have no idea how he’d respond to someone angering him while he’s agitated.” He nodded to her. “Best thing to do is let him do whatever he wants- he can get clearance anyhow, but we may not want to wait- and stop anybody who tries to keep him from doing so.”

She looked frightened but nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Lestrade chuckled. “You’re not so bad when you’re not being insubordinate, Donovan. Not so bad at all,” he said weakly just before his consciousness swam and he finally slid into darkness.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Mycroft had received the text about a shooter at Greg’s crime scene in the middle of a conference with the Prime Minister and several MOD officials. He quickly texted Lestrade, only to send another frantic text when he didn’t reply. He couldn’t get a response and began to grow worried. However, true panic didn’t set in until he received a text and it wasn’t from Gregory.

 _DI Lestrade is down. Sniper keeping emergency vehicles from entering before ARV arrives to neutralize situation. ETA 7 minutes. Orders?_ read the text from Anthea.

Mycroft had to fight to keep his composure, refusing to show a single moment's weakness in front of the men in the meeting. He knew it would be at least another thirty minutes before he would be free to get out of the meeting. 

_Deploy team alpha 6 with cover of Operation Trident uniforms to assist in stopping gunman. Get me details of my husband’s condition NOW -MH_

It wasn’t until the meeting had adjourned that his phone buzzed again. He pulled it from his pocket, only to blanche at the message, stopping abruptly.

 _DI Lestrade acquired and airlifted thirteen minutes ago. Ambulance was unable to reach his position before area secured. Helicopter unreachable by our means due to emergency service vehicle status. No update but he must be in trauma ward by now. Situation seems critical._  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
When Mycroft arrived at the hospital with Anthea at his side, the television in the lobby had a cluster of people around beneath it, all watching with hands over their mouths as the newsreader reported of a police shooting just an hour earlier. The toll was one dead, four wounded, two of whom were critically wounded. He felt his heart leap but as he rushed towards the receptionist, he knew that if Gregory had died, he would’ve found out within minutes- long before the press did. 

He approached the woman at the desk and took his ID from Anthea as she produced it for him. “Can I help you?” the lady asked, looking at him expectantly.

“Yes, I need to know where the victims of the police shooting are,” he said, showing her his ID, the one in which he was stated to have police security clearance. It was one of many various forms of identification that opened doors for him on short notice when he had no time to make arrangements. 

She raised an eyebrow but pulled it up on her computer. “We had two in the trauma ward and two in the regular A&E with minor wounds-“

“Where is the trauma ward?” he demanded and she nodded to a map on display not far from the desk. 

“Follow the color coded arrows,” she explained and Mycroft huffed at such _civilian_ treatment but did as she said. He was more concerned about his husband than his own convenience. 

As soon as he found the directions to the trauma ward on the second floor, he and Anthea set off at quite a pace- as close to running as Mycroft ever came- on their way to the elevators that would take them to the right area on the right floor. When they arrived at the reception area for the trauma unit, he found several police officers milling about. He didn’t recognize any from his dealings with the police before so he headed straight to the nurse at the desk, showing a chart to the woman behind the computer. “Excuse me,” he interrupted.

The woman looked up from the computer and nodded. “Yes, sir?”

“I’m looking for information on one of the police officers shot,” he said quickly, voice less smooth and level than normal. “Detective Inspector Lestrade. Gregory Holmes-Lestrade,” he said in a rush.

The nurse looked up. “We’re not allowed to give information to anybody but the police, sir-“ He held up his ID and she and the receptionist both looked.

“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said, shaking her head. “I’m still not able, that isn’t a badge so-“

“For God sakes, he’s my husband!” he hissed, not even needing to raise his voice to convey his ever-thinning patience. “Here-“ He held out his hand and Anthea handed him his regular identification card. “Mycroft Holmes-Lestrade, I’m his husband.”

She narrowed her eyes. “We haven’t notified family yet,” she said suspiciously and he narrowed his eyes.

“If you value your job, you will tell me who I can speak to about my husband!” he snapped, eyes wide.

“I’m sorry sir, but we haven’t-“

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW QUICKLY I CAN HAVE YOUR JOB?!” he snapped, shouting outright. “I swear-“

“Mr. Holmes?”

Mycroft wheeled around to see a police officer with blood on her shirt standing next to him. “Yes?” he hissed and she backed up slightly, eyes wide.

“You- you’re Mycroft? Detective Inspector Lestrade’s husband?” she asked and he nodded. “Oh, right,” she said, then turned to the two frightened women at the desk. “I’ll handle this,” she said, then nodded for him to follow her. “My name is Hayes. PC Lizzie Hayes,” she explained shakily. “DI Lestrade told Sergeant Donovan to make sure nobody got in your way when you got to the hospital, he warned her that you were- well, that people could lose their jobs,” she said and he raised an eyebrow. “He was really worried you would get angry and he didn’t want you to be worried,” she explained.

“How is he?” Mycroft asked softly. “What happened?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know how he is. He- it wasn’t good by the time they got to him.” She took a breath. “When the gunshots started, me and another bloke dove behind a police car next to us. A few moments later, he and Donovan dove back with us. We were all sitting along the car and the sniper got a lucky shot that went through the door into his back,” she said and Mycroft felt his own hands trembling. “I was next to him so I kept pressure but the shooter was still shooting so nobody came for quite a while.” She scoffed. “The say it was only twenty minutes from the first bullet until they got him and only two more after that before the helicopter landed, but let me tell you,” she said, shaking her head. “Longest twenty-two minutes of my life.”

Mycroft nodded. “How- how was Gregory when- was he-“

She flinched. “He was unconscious only a few minutes after he got shot. He was bleeding too fast. He was alive though. They airlifted him here and they have blood on the helicopter so he should- I think he’ll be alright,” she said with false optimism. He knew it was for his benefit. “I’m no doctor though-“

“Quite,” he said, fingers gripping the handle of his umbrella tightly. “Has there been any update at all?”

She shook her head. “But here-“ They rounded one last corner and she nodded at the two men sitting in chairs outside a door marked ‘restricted access’. “As soon as there’s news, the doctor will come out.”

He took a seat and glanced up at her. “And what of the shooter?”

She smiled grimly. “They got him. He’ll be going to prison for a long time.”

Mycroft shot Anthea a look and nodded. “No he won’t,” he said under his breath and Anthea nodded, walking back down the corridor, her blackberry already to her ear as she went.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
After nearly two hours, Mycroft was roused from his spot by a doctor coming out of the restricted area doors, not another nurse with no information. “PC Hayes, your coworker is out of surgery,” he said to the woman across the hall.

Mycroft stood as soon as she looked over at him and he walked to the doctor on trembling legs. “Mycroft Holmes-Lestrade. Detective Inspector Lestrade is my husband,” he said quickly.

The doctor turned to him rather than PC Hayes and nodded. “Your husband made it through surgery,” he said and Mycroft’s heart pounded. “He should be alright now,” the doctor said before offering a smile. “Dr. Patton,” he introduced. 

Mycroft shook his hand. “How is Gregory?” he asked and the doctor nodded as he began to speak.

“It was a little touch and go, I won’t lie to you, but that was mostly blood loss. After we patched him up, he stabilized quickly. He should recover fully,” he said and Mycroft’s shoulders sagged some with relief.

“That’s wonderful,” he said, offering a small smile. “What exactly happened? I mean, I know he was shot, but…” he trailed off, unable to word it correctly and the doctor took pity on him.

“Your husband was shot through the right shoulder. It missed his lung, somehow, so there was no organ damage. The muscle tissue damage and ligament damage will mean he’s got some physical therapy in store for him before he regains full mobility of his shoulder, but it’s not extensive enough that he has any reason he won’t be able to fully recover within a relatively short amount of time.” He smiled. “He got lucky. A gun that powerful and a bullet that large could’ve completely shredded the upper part of his lung if it had been just a few inches lower or at a steeper angle downward. He may not have survived the wait for assistance with a collapsed lung and internal bleeding. Your husband got very lucky,” he said simply.

Mycroft nodded. “When can I see him?” he asked and the doctor looked at his watch.

“Well, we moved him to a room of his own- injured police officer and all- so you can go sit with him now but he will likely still be asleep for a few more hours. He was heavily sedated for the surgery and he lost a lot of blood, so he’ll probably not wake right up after that wears off-“

“I want to see him anyways,” he said quickly, swallowing hard. “Please,” he added and the doctor gave him a small smile.

“I understand.”

It wasn’t until Mycroft had been left alone in the room that he approached the bed and felt the reality of the situation _really_ sink in. He looked down at his husband’s ashen skin and took in the heavy bandaging across his upper right chest and shoulder and felt his throat tighten significantly. He pulled a chair over and sat down, pulling Lestrade’s left hand into his own. He kissed his knuckles, stroking his finger across the wedding band on his finger. “Oh Gregory,” he whispered, looking up at his unnaturally still face. “My dear, I have never been more afraid than I was today.” He sniffled weakly. “I love you so much, Gregory. Please never scare me like this again.”

His phone ringing startled him. He dug it from his pocket and frowned at the unknown number. Unknown numbers _did not_ come to this phone. “Hello?” he asked, raising the phone to his ear.

“Brother, there’s no time to explain!” Sherlock’s frantic voice filtered across the somewhat shaky connection. “There may well be an assassin in London right now. His target will either be John or Lestrade, you have to act quickly-“

Mycroft’s blood ran cold. “Too late,” he said simply.

Sherlock was silent before his voice crossed the airwaves in a way that did not allow static to detract from the fear in his voice. “What?”

Mycroft sighed and put his face in his hands. “The sniper has been taken care of. By now, he has long been neutralized.”

“Which one?” was all Sherlock asked.

“Gregory,” he said softly. “He’s alive, though. I had no idea the gunman was after him, I have very little intelligence on the matter so far. I’ve been at the hospital since I learned Gregory was one of the victims of a police shooting at a crime scene he was working-“

“A crime scene? How interesting,” Sherlock said in a thoughtful voice. “The crime was probably staged to draw Lestrade into the firing line,” he realized. “Mycroft, I am so sorry. I had no idea he had slipped me until it was too late-“

“I have so many questions that I know you won’t answer, but you should know something,” Mycroft said softly. “No matter what reasoning you had, no matter what, you could have come to me,” he said weakly, his emotions already ran through the wringer that day. “You- you let me think you were dead. Two months of thinking you were gone and then a _book_ -“

“I have priorities, Mycroft, and I’m sorry but you are not one of them-“

“Then you could have at least considered Gregory!” he hissed. “He was suspended! Every case you ever assisted on came under review and he nearly lost his job if I hadn’t been able to pull some strings! And besides that, he cared for you through thick and thin, he stuck by you in your darkest moments, he _saved your life_ and you repay him by making him think you died?! I’m not sure who was more broken, him or me!” he spat. 

Sherlock was silent for a moment before speaking. “I had to. To avoid what almost happened today, I had to.”

Mycroft frowned. “Explain.”

Sherlock sighed. “Mycroft, on the roof… Moriarty’s plan all along was to make me jump-“

“MAKE you jump?! What, are you saying he pushed you-“

“There were gunmen. Assassins set to murder John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade.” Mycroft’s breath caught in his throat. “If they didn’t get the signal that I was dead, they were going to kill them all. I am sorry, brother. Sorrier than you can imagine for hurting the few people in the world who ever gave a damn about me. But you have a husband now because of my actions, Mycroft. Be more gracious.”

Mycroft sighed. “Tell me where to send you money and get me a list of what you need. I won’t ask more questions, but if there are more assassins out to kill the three you care most about, I want to know because Gregory survived out of pure luck today. He won’t be so lucky on a second attempt, I’m sure.” He swallowed. “And as much as I love you, my dear little brother, I survived your loss. I cannot, however, survive losing him,” he admitted weakly.

“Trust me, I understand,” Sherlock whispered so softly his voice was almost lost in the static.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Mycroft sighed. “Yes, I am well aware we had a meeting, sir. However, as my assistant explained, I was unavoidably detained-“ He propped his elbows on the bed next to Greg’s hip and put his face in his hand not holding the phone. “Look, it is a family emergency, I am terribly sorry-“ He groaned into his palm. “Yes, I am aware nations could fall but I am sitting next to a hospital bed as we speak and I cannot possibly-“

A hand curled around his wrist and Mycroft’s head shot up. He stared at Greg’s half-opened eyes, hand going limp as he slid his hand up to take the phone from Mycroft and press ‘end’. “Enough of that, love,” he said in a weak, hoarse voice.

Mycroft let out a shaky chuckle. “Hello, Gregory,” he said softly, curling his hand around his husbands. He kissed his palm before lacing their fingers together. 

Greg chuckled. “Mmmmm, how long was I out?” he asked and Mycroft winced.

“Several hours.” He reached up to brush his knuckle along Lestrade’s cheek. “I was beginning to think the doctor had been wrong,” he almost whispered.

Greg winced as he stretched his neck some, looking down at his chest. “Huh, I have to admit, I had no idea getting shot hurt so much,” he said and Mycroft chuckled.

“A bullet going through your body, of course it hurts terribly,” he said, then squeezed his hand. “You’re going to be alright,” he said. “It went through, didn’t hit anything major. You’ll have some physical therapy before your shoulder is fully alright again, but you’ll be okay. They worried you would’ve bled out but they got you to the hospital in time,” he said, throat tightening. 

Greg smiled at his tight face. “I’m alright, Myc-“

“I was so scared,” Mycroft admitted weakly. He stood some and leaned over to kiss Greg gently. “I was in a meeting I couldn’t possibly leave when I was alerted you had been shot. It was horrific sitting there and waiting.”

Lestrade just smiled tiredly. “You aren’t rid of me that easy, love.” He shifted slightly and hissed. “Oh yeah, that’s going to hurt for a while, I bet.” He snorted. “Back on the job less than a month and I get shot. That’s just great.” He tilted his head and winced as he got comfortable. “Did they catch the shooter?”

Mycroft just sat back slightly, his posture regaining its usual perfection. “He has been dealt with,” he said simply. Greg shot him a look and Mycroft gave him an innocent quirk of his eyebrow. “What?”

Lestrade snickered. “Myc, you can’t go off having people ‘dealt with’ just because you have the power to do so-“

“He _shot my husband_ ,” Mycroft stressed. “Besides, two people were killed, clearly it was a matter of public safety. The gunman was eliminated not terribly long after I got confirmation he was in custody.”

Greg just smiled. “Well, remind me to never get on your bad side, love, that’s all I’ve got to say,” he joked and Mycroft returned his smile.

“It’s so good to see you smile, Gregory. I was so worried about you.” He looked down at their hands. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you, my dear.”

Greg just smiled and tugged his hand until he stood again. “C’mere, Myc,” he said, pulling him down to kiss him. Mycroft smiled against Greg’s lips. When the kiss broke, Lestrade cupped Mycroft’s face in his hand. “I’m fine and you would’ve been alright even if I wasn’t, okay?” He slid his thumb across Mycroft’s cheekbone. “Where’s that hardened, somewhat scary government official I know, huh?” he teased and Mycroft chuckled.

“Even hardened, powerful men have weaknesses, Gregory,” he said, smiling when Greg tilted his chin up to steal another kiss. 

“Well then, guess I’ll have to just try harder not to get shot again,” he joked and Mycroft let out a laugh.

“You do that, my dear, you do that.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Greg was able to go back to work at his desk in two weeks. He would need a few more weeks before he was able to get back out to the streets, but he was able to coordinate from the office for a while at least. He had only been back a few hours the first day when PC Hayes knocked at his open door. He offered her a smile. “Yes?” he asked and she walked in.

“I was just coming to see if you were really back so soon,” she said. She walked over towards his desk. “I figured anybody who got shot would be out for a while longer.”

Lestrade chuckled. “Well, I’m at my desk for another week and a half, but I’m alright,” he said, nodding at his right arm, which was in a sling. “It sure does make paperwork a bother though.”

She nodded. “So, I saw that the shooter ‘escaped’ custody after he was brought in and then the night after the shooting, his body was found floating in the Thames,” she said, looking up at him. “What you said to Sergeant Donovan… I’m assuming that applies?” she asked and Lestrade cringed.

“You would do best to forget that conversation,” he said gently. “I’m not saying anything would happen, but if you can follow what happened in conjunction with what I told Sally, you can figure out why that isn’t something you should bring up,” he said and she gave him a slightly frightened, wide eyed look.

“Yes, of course.” She gave him a smile and a wave before leaving the room quickly. Lestrade just snickered at the memory of her stricken face as she turned to all but run away.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
When Mycroft got home, he was tired. He stripped off his jacket and laid it across the back of the chair in the sitting room on his way to the kitchen. He was starving, since he hadn’t had a moment to himself all day during which he could eat. When he got there, he was amused to see Greg standing at the refrigerator trying to open a beer with his arm still in its sling. “Let me,” he offered as he walked in and Lestrade looked up, giving him a bright smile.

“Well hello, love,” he greeted, holding out the bottle to Mycroft, who took the bottle opener and popped the cap off, only to hold the bottle away when Greg reached for it.

“Not before you kiss me,” he said and Lestrade smirked as he leaned in and kissed Mycroft, eliciting a happy hum from his husband as he pressed him against the counter slightly, nipping at his bottom lip pleasantly before pulling back. Mycroft smiled and handed him his bottle. “Alright,” he said, making a face when Greg thanked him and turned to walk out, taking a swig on his way to the door. “I hate when you drink that swill. I can’t stand to kiss you with that taste on your lips. Even after you’ve finished it and it’s been a while you still taste disgusting until you brush your teeth,” he said to Greg’s retreating back before turning back to grab a bottle of water and an apple since it was nearly dinner time and there was no reason to eat anything more until then. 

“Yet you can drink that really disgusting dessert wine they always serve at the places you take me out to,” Lestrade said over his shoulder as he headed towards the living room and flopped down on the couch, picking up the remote to turn on the television.

Mycroft scoffed as he came and sat down at the other end, immediately allowing Greg to tuck his toes under his thigh. “You have no taste,” he said flatly and Lestrade just smirked.

“Not all of us can be painfully posh and trained to taste the price tag on something, not the flavor,” he teased, poking Mycroft in the side with his toes. “Besides, every bloke should be able to enjoy a beer and telly every once in a while.”

Mycroft just chuckled, shaking his head as he cut a slice of apple and ate it. “And since when have I ever qualified as a ‘bloke’, as you so eloquently phrased it, my dear? I prefer the term ‘gentleman’,” he countered.

Lestrade just smiled. “I call it a work in progress,” he said, tipping his beer back. “I’ve already managed to fix the sour look you used to always wear. Not you actually smile quite often rather than go all day looking like you smelled a particularly bad fart,” he said, winking at him. “Dislodged the stick up your arse, too. You actually enjoy non-work-related things now on occasion. I’m going to make you a real boy yet, love, just you wait,” he said with a playful smile.

Mycroft just rolled his eyes. “So eloquent, Gregory, however do I manage not to swoon every time you speak?” he deadpanned, earning another poke to his side. “No really though, I have to admit, I was a very stiff man before you,” he allowed, only to roll his eyes when Greg snorted, dissolving into giggles. “God, I’m living with a twelve year old,” he sighed and Greg laughed outright.

“Love, you cannot possibly blame me for that one!” he said, then smirked. “Although, it is true, a good few shags to loosen you up did wonders for your pretty smile,” he said, winking. “Welcome, darling.”

Mycroft actually chuckled. “Oh darn, you’ve got me, I’ve stayed with you this long for the constant supply of sexual encounters.”

“Obviously,” Greg added, playing along. “Who needs stupid ‘love’ and ‘companionship’ when there’s a constant supply of orgasms?”

Mycroft just rolled his eyes. “The fact I love you just proves I’m mad, Gregory,” he proclaimed and Greg smiled warmly at his husband.

“I’ve long realized I’m barking for loving a frustrating, insufferably brilliant man like you, love.” He winked . “We can just be batty together then.”

Mycroft’s phone vibrated on the table and he sighed. “So much for a quiet night in,” he said and Lestrade chuckled.

“When do we ever get a quite night in?” he said, pulling his feet out of the way so Mycroft could stand. He looked up to see Mycroft tense as soon as he opened the text. “Myc?” he asked and Mycroft looked up, eyes wide and face pale as he looked at Greg before glancing way. “You alright?”

Mycroft smiled tightly. “Just business, dear,” he said, turning to walk out swiftly.

 _Call me immediately. I need your help- SH_  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Mycroft sat down at his desk and pressed send. 

“Mycroft,” Sherlock said, his voice hoarse.

Mycroft sniffed. “What do you need?”

Sherlock chuckled. “I’ve run into some trouble. I’m in Lebanon and I’ve somehow ended up on the radar of a Syrian arms dealer- long story-“ Mycroft snorted softly and rolled his eyes. “But I’ve managed to kill another of the assassins from Moriarty’s network and it turns out he was one of theirs. I’m pretty sure if I’m captured, there may suddenly be a skirmish between Lebanon and Syria.”

“Sherlock, how the hell did you manage that?” Mycroft asked, then shook his head. “I’ll clear it up, don’t worry. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll call you back with an exit strategy. Where do you need to get to next?”

Sherlock hummed. “If I’m right, I only have three left. The closest one is currently hiding out in Santa Cruz.”

Mycroft sighed. “I’ll get you a flight.”

Sherlock was quite for a moment before speaking. “Thank you.” Mycroft closed his eyes at his brother’s genuine sounding gratitude. “Does Lestrade know?”

Mycroft scoffed. “Like I’m going to trouble my husband with the same worry I’m suffering now. He finally got out of the sadness he felt the first few weeks back at the Yard without you to call in only to get shot. Like I’m going to upset him by telling him the reason he got shot is because his supposedly dead friend missed one of the assassins he’s been hunting. I wouldn’t do that to him, Sherlock. The only way he’s finding out you’re alive is if you live to get back to London someday.”

Sherlock chuckled. “So lying to him is how you chose to start your marriage, great job, Mycroft.”

“Oh do shut up,” Mycroft grumbled. “I’m only lying to protect him. I suspect he would do the same to me.” He sniffed. “Speaking of lovers, I’ve raised my surveillance on Dr. Watson since Greg’s shooting-“

“John was never my lover,” Sherlock spat acerbically. 

Mycroft chuckled as he brought up an email to Anthea to book Sherlock’s flight on his computer. “Whatever you say. But I know you didn’t give up your vanity for your motherly landlady or my husband’s fatherly affection.”

“Maybe I did fake my death to save him, but nothing about that changes the fact we were never lovers, Mycroft,” he hissed. 

“But you wanted him to be,” Mycroft said softly. “I’m neither blind nor stupid, Sherlock. I just want to know you admit it because you need a reason to come home,” he admitted. “You care so little for your own wellbeing and I know you won't do anything for me and you only care so much for Gregory and Mrs. Hudson. But I can trust you will care for yourself in order to come home to him,” he said softly.

Sherlock was quiet for a moment before making an annoyed huff. “Text me flight details later,” he said before hanging up abruptly.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Mycroft was reading the paper in his office, looking for any sign that the Korean ambassador had mentioned certain information he had been sworn to secrecy on that Mycroft suspected wouldn’t remain so, when the door opened and Greg came in, looking sheepish. “Mycroft, dear,” he started and Mycroft raised an eyebrow, putting the paper down. “Something came up.”

Mycroft sighed. “Gregory, the one night we have off together was bound to be interrupted, don’t look so nervous. I was worried there.”

“Right, no.” Greg walked over and leaned against the desk, looking down at Mycroft. “It’s not that kind of something came up.”

“Oh?” Mycroft asked curiously.

Lestrade cringed. “I kind of agreed to let the girls stay with us this weekend,” he said and Mycroft gave him a slightly frightened look. “I know, I know pre-teen girls scare you-“

“I am not _scared_ -“

“When they talked to you all about cute boys in bands and glittery makeup, you looked afraid for your life,” Greg said with a smirk. “You’re frightened of them.”

Mycroft just cringed. “They asked me if pink glitter was prettier than blue glitter, why wouldn’t I be frightened?”

Greg chuckled. “Well, they’re sort of on their way over. Sarah had to go do a work thing this weekend and I agreed that we would keep them until Tuesday, so I’ll have to have a car to drive them to school and pick them up Monday,” he said, then smiled apologetically. “And we’ll have to cancel dinner, tonight.”

Mycroft just gave him as convincing of a smile as he could. “I don’t mind, Gregory. I would’ve preferred pre-notification but I understand things come up. God knows I’ve sprung things on you enough.”

Lestrade gave him a warm smile. “God, I love you, Myc. You put up with so much from me,” he said, leaning down to kiss him sweetly. “I’ll leave you to it then, go straighten out the guest room upstairs so it’s habitable for them,” he said, leaning in to steal another kiss before hopping off the desk. “Thanks, love.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Mycroft came out of his office at dinner time and found Greg showing the girls around the kitchen while the cook fixed their dinner. “Good evening, ladies,” he said, smiling politely when Evie and Chrissie turned and smiled.

“Hey Mycroft!” they said in unison, then turned back to their father. “Dad, can we watch a movie _please_?” Chrissie begged, tugging on his hand and pouting up at him. 

Mycroft just smirked when Gregory sighed and nodded. “Alright, alright but don’t pick something that’s total rubbish, I don’t want your mother getting on me for letting you watch things you shouldn’t.”

“Thanks Dad!” Chrissie said, turning to rush out, ducking under Mycroft’s arm. Evie at least had the decency to say ‘excuse me’ on her way past.

Mycroft just smiled sneakily and walked over to Lestrade, who narrowed his eyes at him. “So, the big, brown eyes and a pout, huh?” he teased and Greg chuckled.

“Daughters are kryptonite,” he said with a fond smile. “And I swear, something about the big, brown eyes just makes you think of a puppy.”

Mycroft scoffed playfully. “Don’t I know it! How do you think you talk me into so many things?” he asked, nudging him out of the way so he could open the refrigerator and grab a bottle of water. “Come on, it’s a while before dinner still and they’re probably trying to find the bloodiest, most violent film they can out of your collection just because we’re not in there.”

“God, their mother will kill me,” Greg said, earning an amused chuckle as he led the way out of the kitchen and down towards the dining room.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Greg had been called in to work, leaving Mycroft and the girls at the house alone for most of the afternoon. Mycroft didn’t mind because they kept out of the way when he had to do some conference calls with Anthea and another one of his assistants and when he was finished, they were still capable of entertaining themselves. After sitting down with a book of his own in the library, Mycroft smiled as he noticed Chrissie snooping around the bottom shelf of the book case where he kept various books on chemistry and anatomy and physics. “Your father told me one of you liked science,” he said and Chrissie jumped slightly, looking up in surprise, only to smile when she looked from the books to him.

“I’m really good at science. Dad says I should be a doctor or a forensics expert or something,” she said brightly. She picked up a book on chemistry and came over to sit on the couch next to Mycroft. “You have a lot of science books,” she said, looking at him. “Do you do science things for the government?” she asked. 

Mycroft chuckled. “Not exactly,” he said with a small smile. “Most of these were my brother’s when he lived at home. I took many of them to clear up space in my mother’s house after he had left.”

“You have a brother?” she asked and Mycroft smiled sadly, for her benefit.

“I did. He passed away not too long ago,” he said and she looked up with wide eyes.

“Was he old?” she asked and he shook his head.

“No, he was quite young, he just… had an accident,” he answered. “He loved science. He was very good at chemistry,” he said, nodding at the book in her hands. “Maybe if he learned so much from those books, you can too,” he encouraged and she gave a big, bright grin that reminded him very much of Gregory’s smile and then opened the book, looking through the table of contents excitedly.

“I want to be a scientist for the police like the people Dad works with. The ones that look at DNA and stuff,” she said excitedly. “Dad has the coolest job ever, he catches bad guys! I wanna be the one that figures out which one is the bad guy with forensics and stuff.”

Mycroft just chuckled in amusement before turning back to his own book. “You are very much like your father,” he said absently only to be amused when he saw the bright, proud smile that crossed Chrissie’s face, almost as if being compared to her father was the best praise he could give her.

“Dad is awesome!” she proclaimed before returning to her own book. Mycroft fought back a chuckle because he couldn’t agree more.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
In all his years, Lestrade had never felt more helpless than he did now.

He had been having his lunch, midday, ready to finish up and get off early to go pick up the girls from school and have a nice, quiet night with them before they went back to their mother the next day. A normal, average day that had been interrupted with a phone call that could only earn the response “Please, God, not again.”

“Gregory, it’s John.”

As soon as Lestrade heard those words in a frantic tone coming from his husband’s lips through the phone, he knew something horrible had happened. However, he never expected the words that followed to be “I was just informed by Anthea that Mrs. Hudson has telephoned emergency services after finding Dr. Watson unconscious in his flat. It appears, he attempted to take his own life.”

Greg’s blood ran cold and his head swam. He had known that John wasn’t getting much better. Since he had moved back into 221B, he had clearly suffered a new wave of grief for his friend. However, it had been six and half months since Sherlock had died and Greg honestly thought John was finally getting better. They had been at the pub just the other night and he had seemed happier than he had in a while. He was going on a date with a girl from the surgery Saturday night, he was finally getting out and living life again, and he seemed happier than he had been since Sherlock died. 

Greg sighed. “I’ll go to the hospital. I may be late tonight, can you get a car to go pick up the girls?” he asked.

“Not a problem, my dear. Just go see how Dr. Watson is doing.”

Greg nodded. “Thanks, Myc. Love you,” he said as he stood and started to the door.

“I love you too, Gregory,” he said in an oddly small voice. Greg knew Mycroft was just as concerned as he was.

As he hung up and dropped his phone in his coat pocket, he passed Donovan, who was coming into his office. “Sir?” she asked and he flinched.

“I’m going out. Something’s come up,” he said and she held out a file.

“The chief inspector wants you to take a look at this case, sir,” she said plaintively and he shook his head.

“I can’t,” he said, voice crackling. He stopped and cleared his throat. “Leave it on my desk.”

Sally frowned. “Sir?” she asked and he sighed, shaking his head.

“John Watson just attempted suicide. My _friend_ tried to kill himself, Donovan.” He shot her a look. “It can _wait_.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Lestrade was sitting in the waiting room with a near-hysteric Mrs. Hudson when the door opened and a doctor walked out. “Are you here for John Watson?” she asked and Mrs. Hudson looked up suddenly.

“Yes?” she asked and the doctor knelt down in front of her, taking pity on the poor woman’s nerves. 

“Hi, I’m Dr. Farad,” she said, pushing her dark ponytail over her shoulder. 

Lestrade couldn’t stay quiet. “How’s John?”

Dr. Farad smiled encouragingly. “John’s stable.” She patted Mrs. Hudson’s hand. “He’s lucky you found him when you did.” She smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t say too much to anybody who isn’t family,” she said and Mrs. Hudson whimpered while Greg shook his head.

“His only family is a sister who won’t answer any calls. She’s probably not going to come.” He held Mrs. Hudson’s hand. “I’m Detective Inspector Lestrade and this is Mrs. Hudson, we’re his friends.”

Dr. Farad gave him an appraising look then nodded. “Well, I can’t very well let you two sit here without news,” she admitted, looking at how upset Mrs. Hudson was. “John should be alright. However, he did take an entire bottle of antidepressants,” she pointed out. 

Lestrade cringed. “I didn’t even know he was on antidepressants. He didn’t mention anything about his therapist giving him anything.”

She nodded. “When he wakes up, we’re going to keep him on suicide watch for the next forty-eight hours while he’s here recovering. Do you know of any reason he would have wanted to hurt himself? Is there anything we should avoid saying or doing?” she asked and Greg winced while Mrs. Hudson let out a little sob, putting her tissue to her mouth again.

Dr. Farad gave Lestrade a curious look and he smiled sadly. “John’s flat mate- er, his best friend… he died nearly six months ago.”

She gave him an understanding look. “Is it too much to ask what happened? Just so we know what not to say or do to upset John?” she asked and Mrs. Hudson full on burst into sobs again.

Greg cleared his throat, swallowing hard. “He… took his own life,” he admitted and the doctor gave him an understanding look. “He jumped. In front of John,” he said and she cringed. “So probably nothing about falling or jumping. Maybe don’t ask about a best friend or anything when he wakes up.”

Dr. Farad nodded. “Okay, thanks for that,” she said, then looked at Mrs. Hudson. “We’re going to take good care of him, alright? He probably won’t be up for visitors until tomorrow, so I’d suggest you go home for now. It’s getting near time for tea, don’t you say?” she asked, smiling gently. 

Mrs. Hudson nodded. “Yes, I guess that would be best,” she said, sniffling.

Greg patted her arm. “If you’d like, I can come stay with you this evening, it’s no trouble,” he said and she just chuckled.

“No, love. John mentioned the other night you were keeping your daughters. You best go home,” she said, then smiled and stood with the doctor. “Thank you very much, Dr. Farad. If anything changes, can someone give me a ring?” she asked and Dr. Farad nodded.

“Of course,” she said with a gentle smile. “You have a good evening,” she said and Lestrade nodded.

“Have a good one, doctor.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Mycroft waited until Gregory had come home and they and the girls finished dinner before he escaped to his office. Sherlock’s number had changed three times, so he hoped the last one was the one he still had. He let it ring for a while before giving up and putting the phone on his desk. He pressed his fingertips together and balanced his chin on them. He sat and waited, wondering what he could even say if Sherlock did call him back. He was worried, to say the least, as to how his brother would respond. However, the idea of not telling him that John had made an attempt on his life was unthinkable. 

Sherlock would find out later and resent Mycroft for it. He just knew he would.

After more than fifteen minutes, Mycroft’s phone rang, startling him out of his thoughts. He picked it up and took the call, closing his eyes as he held the phone to his ear. “Mycroft, I told you _not_ to call me! You are lucky I already ditched the police!”

“Sherlock-“

“I am nearly done with my _last_ target if the police would leave me alone-“

“Sherlock!” Mycroft snapped, shutting him up. “Sherlock, something has happened,” he said softly.

Sherlock’s intake of breath told all Mycroft needed to know he understood someone had been hurt. “Who?” he asked in a tight voice.

Mycroft put his face in his hand, somewhat disturbed to find that his hands were shaking. “John,” he said softly and Sherlock made a pained sound.

“But I’m not wrong! I’m after the last assassin now, he’s still here in Italy, how could someone- Is John okay? He’s not dead, right? He can’t be dead. He has to be-“

“Sherlock,” Mycroft interrupted impatiently. “You weren’t wrong.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment before speaking. “Then what happened? Please tell me I didn’t go through all this trouble for him to get injured in a car accident or something equally as mundane. And you still won’t say if he’s alright, Mycroft. I’m starting to think he isn’t,” he finished in an anxious tone. “Tell me what happened to my John!”

“He swallowed an entire bottle of antidepressants, Sherlock,” Mycroft said tersely. Sherlock didn’t speak so he continued. “Nobody knew how bad he was doing. Just last week Gregory told me how John seemed better. He was smiling and talking about how he had a date for the first time in a very long time. He’d met somebody and he was doing well at work and he seemed better-“

“What do you mean, better?” Sherlock asked, sounding genuinely confused.

Mycroft scoffed. “Better than when he _watched his best friend die_ ,” he spat. “God, Sherlock, you still can’t comprehend what you did to us all! It’s been six months, Sherlock! Six months for him to live alone every day. He has no other real friends. Nobody else understands. He has Greg, and that’s about it. His old friends don’t ask him out as much since he brings them down. He didn’t even move back into 221B for a while because he couldn’t bear to be there and see your ghost. Gregory has told me all about John admitting to nightmares for the longest. And when he moved back into the flat you two shared, he slipped back into a pattern of expecting to see you when he turned around, only to be reminded that his best friend- the person he shared so much more than a flat with- you _killed yourself_ before his eyes.” Mycroft caught his breath and shook his head. “God, look at me. I’m getting emotional. Marriage really has made me weak, hasn’t it?” he joked weakly.

Sherlock’s breath sounded stuttered and his voice sounded weak. “Is he alive?”

Mycroft sighed. “Yes, Sherlock. He survived. Mrs. Hudson- that poor woman- found him unconscious and called an ambulance. It’s lucky he chose to take all of his pills rather than just do it quick and use that gun of his,” he said, regretting it immediately when he heard Sherlock’s pained gasp. “Look, I’m sorry Sherlock, but it’s true.”

“Will he be alright?” Sherlock asked softly.

Mycroft just smiled sadly, looking down at his desk. “Sherlock, I don’t know. Physically, they say he will recover. He’ll be on suicide watch for a few days, though. I know enough about John Watson to know he wouldn’t have attempted if he didn’t mean to succeed.”

Sherlock sighed. “I know.” He made a noise. “But _why_? Why would he try to kill himself?! John is proud and brave, he is NOT the kind of man to take his own life.”

Mycroft shook his head. “That’s because you don’t understand, Sherlock-“

“I _know_!” he argued. “I don’t understand, Mycroft!”

Mycroft interrupted him. “He was in love with you!” he snapped. “Good lord, Sherlock, you can’t be that stupid! You are so brilliant but you never saw that _you_ were everything to him! He loved you so much he felt he couldn’t continue to live in a world where you weren’t there, Sherlock. Why don’t you understand this?! If not for yourself, you should know from seeing countless times what love does to normal people! Hell, even I can honestly say I understand him! I thought myself above it, but while I have an important purpose in life, I do understand what would drive someone to kill themselves after the loss of the person they’re in love with. I would be lost without Gregory. The thought of losing him is worse than most everything else in this world, but unlike John Watson, I also have responsibilities to keep this nation running. I have a reason to soldier on should anything ever happen to my husband.” He sighed. “But Dr. Watson has a minor job at a clinic, barely any family to speak of, a need to feel important, and you didn’t die, you killed yourself in front of him.”

“But I did it to save him,” Sherlock said softly.

Mycroft shook his head to himself. “It doesn’t matter, Sherlock. He doesn’t know that. He believes in you still, but he still has to know deep down that if you were willing to kill yourself, it meant he wasn’t important enough to you to make you think life was worth it-“

“But he has to know that I love him!” Sherlock interrupted, sounding more upset than Mycroft had ever heard his brother allow himself to be. “How could he ever think that he isn’t enough? He is _everything_! I gave up everything to keep him safe and I find out I can’t even keep him safe from himself! I am so close to being done, to having them all out of the way so that John can be _safe_ and-“ Mycroft was horrified to hear his brother’s voice break. “So I can come _home_ , Mycroft. I just want to come home,” he whispered in an absolutely shattered voice. “I want to come home, and- and I want Mrs. Hudson to fuss over me not eating, and I want you bugging our flat and spying on me until I’m sick of you,” Mycroft chuckled softly. “And I want John,” he whimpered- honest to God whimpered- before drawing in a shaky, wet sounding breath. “I want him to yell at me for putting frog hearts in his kettle and I want him to laugh when I mock annoying people.” Mycroft closed his eyes and fought a lump when he heard Sherlock let out a half-sobbing breath. “And I want to see him smile. I just want to see him smile at me or at the television or even at a pretty girl- hell, I don’t even think I could manage to be jealous- I just want to come home and see John smile again,” he choked out. “I don’t- I just need to find this one last person and then I can go home but I need him to still be there or else-“ He stopped abruptly and Mycroft frowned.

“Or else what, Sherlock?” he asked gently.

Sherlock let out a wet, fragile laugh. “Or else it isn’t home.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The next morning after Lestrade returned home from walking the girls to school to say goodbye since their mother was picking them up after school, Mycroft wasn’t on his way out the door, headed to work, when he arrived. Lestrade frowned as he looked around downstairs before heading back upstairs to see if Mycroft had left early. “Mycroft? Are you running late?” he asked as he headed down the hall, only to stop when he walked into their room and saw Mycroft coming out of the bathroom still in his pajamas. “Are you alright?”

Mycroft just smiled and nodded. “I’m taking the morning off,” he said, walked over to slide his arms around Lestrade, who just raised an eyebrow as he wrapped his own around Mycroft’s waist.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asked and Mycroft hummed, nodding against his neck.

“You don’t have work until one, so I figured I would take off the morning and we could spend it together,” Mycroft said, picking his head up to look into Lestrade’s eyes. “Unless you were going to see John, I didn’t even think-“

Lestrade shook his head. “No, I can stay home,” he said, then frowned as he looked at the sadness hidden behind Mycroft’s smiled. “Myc, is everything alright?” he asked.

Mycroft sighed but nodded. “Of course,” he said, leaning in to kiss Greg softly. “Isn’t it possible for a man to just want to have a bit of a lie in with his husband?”

Greg chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so, just not usually workaholics like you,” he said, pecking his lips. “Want to go back to bed and get a bit more sleep?” he suggested and Mycroft smiled and nodded.

“That sounds lovely.” He tugged at Greg’s free hand, earning a laugh as Greg followed him and only bothered kicking off his shoes and removing his trousers and shirt, sliding into bed in his boxers and vest. Mycroft gave him a sleepy smile and wiggled closer as soon as Greg settled, laying his head on Greg’s left shoulder, glancing across at his right as he caught sight of the scar from the bullet that came inches from taking his husband from him not too long ago. He thought about his conversation with Sherlock- he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it- and felt a pang at the realization that if he was weak enough to let love control so much of his life since Gregory, clearly it was foolish of him to suspect Sherlock was any stronger against John Watson. 

“What’re you thinking about, love?” Greg asked as he tipped his chin down and kissed Mycroft’s forehead. 

Mycroft tipped his head back and stole Greg’s lips with his own. “How lucky I am that I have you,” he answered honestly. He gently reached over and brushed his fingertips along the edge of the scar revealed by Greg’s vest. Greg reached up and caught his hand, pulling it to his lips a moment later.

“I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, Myc,” he reassured, smiling as he shifted slightly to curl both arms around Mycroft, holding him. “What’s gotten into you?” he asked and Mycroft just shrugged slightly, careful not to knock Lestrade’s arms away.

“Occasionally I just find myself reminded that I was terribly fortunate to have met, fallen in love with, and married the perfect man for me,” he said, looking up into Greg’s dark eyes. “Everything that happened to bring us together were momentary chances that went right, Gregory. I may not believe in fate or luck, but it was very fortuitous that you and I were able to get to where we are.”

Greg smirked. “Mmmm, I’d say,” he said, leaning in to kiss Mycroft sweetly. “How often is it that a man like me lands a brilliant, gorgeous bastard like you, huh?” he teased and Mycroft just smiled.

“I’d say I was rather lucky a cold, empty man like I was had his life changed forever by someone so kind, brave, and wonderful as you, Gregory,” he whispered, curling his fingers into Greg’s silver hair. “Nothing can make me ever forget how much better my life is with you in it, Gregory.”

Lestrade nodded. “Same here, Myc, same here,” he said softly, curling his arms tighter as he rested his chin atop Mycroft’s head, holding his husband in his strong arms until they both slipped into a slumber, lulled there by warmth, happiness, and most of all, love.

**Author's Note:**

> Never fear, another part is coming before too terribly long!


End file.
